He whistled abruptly, then called out, “Clyde!” The big, tough-looking man who’d ridden with them from her keep came forward. Other than Gavin and Kerr, he was the one the others had turned to for instruction. She hadn’t noticed he’d been keeping guard near the door. She scanned the great hall and saw others on guard—one by each stairwell entrance and more up on the balcony.
Kerr stepped forward and raised a hand to waylay Clyde. “Send your men away, Gavin. Send them all away. We need to talk—as family.”
“Nay. He’ll accompany Deirdre to her room. Isobel, too, if she so desires. But I’ll keep a guard on her. My keep, my decision.”
Isobel pushed between her brother and Kerr MacAlister, a hand on each man’s chest, trying to hold them apart. “Kerr, let Clyde show her upstairs. As much as I would like to accompany Deirdre to her room, I would stay for this family talk. Gavin is right. It is his decision, and Deirdre isna family.”
“She is to me,” Kerr said.
Gavin threw his hands up in the air. He no longer looked like a heartless, indomitable laird but a man who just wanted to kick his brother’s arse. “God’s blood! You’re so full of shite. You’ve known the lass for only two days.”
“I claim her, Gavin. She is blood to me, and I claim her. If you hurt her, you not only hurt me, but the rest of the lads and Gregor too.”
“And just how do my actions against Deirdre affect Darach, Lachlan, Callum, and Gregor?”
“The same way it would if I did something to hurt Isobel.”
Gavin pressed close, and Isobel seemed in danger of being squashed between them. “Isobel is my sister—I was there when she was born. And you want to marry her for Christ’s sake.” He flung a hand in Deirdre’s direction. “She’s just a cousin who is…what, four times removed? You ne’er even knew she existed.”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Aye. It. Does! You should be on my side in this!”
“I am on your side!”
Deirdre’s heart pounded like a tree knocking against the keep’s wall in a gale. She watched the men—foster brothers, friends—at the edge of a precipice. At any moment, one might draw his sword and a life would be taken. If not one of theirs, then maybe Isobel’s, who stood so bravely between them.
Surely this was the end of their friendship, their alliance! And all because of her.
“Please, stop! I will go with Clyde,” Deirdre said into the sudden silence. “You canna come to blows o’er this.”
“Aye, they can,” Isobel said, “and maybe they should.”
“Nay! ’Tis bad enough what is happening with Ewan. I willna have a death on my hands too!” She grasped Isobel’s arm and pulled her away from the men, who had since straightened and were looking at her a little bemusedly. “Come with me now, before you get hurt.”
Isobel’s brow furrowed, and she gently stopped her. “Doona worry, Deirdre. This isn’t the first time they’ve fought, and it willna be the last. ’Tis how it is in our family. You’ll see that as the days go by.” She looked up at her brother. “Isn’t that right, Gavin?”
He scowled at her and moved to a side table by the hearth to pour a cup of mead for himself. “I’m not planning to keep her locked up, if that’s what you’re asking.”
He tipped back his head and took a long swig, and Deirdre found herself watching the muscles move in his throat. She was fighting a strange urge to bite down on that hard-looking bump—whether in desire or anger, she couldn’t tell—when an ear-splitting scream sounded from upstairs.
Six
Gavin spewed the last swallow of mead back into his cup, hurriedly dropped it on the tray and raced toward the stairs. Kerr and Isobel trailed after him, concern etched on their faces.
Ewan!
Deirdre arrived at the stairs before him, her skirts hiked up and looking ready to sprint upward, despite not knowing where the nursery was located. He wrapped his hand around her upper arm, making sure his fingers didn’t dig into her soft flesh.
“No!” he said.
She turned frantic eyes to him. “But it’s Ewan!”
“I know who it is, and Annag is up there with him. She’ll calm him and get him back to bed.”
“You doona understand. It’s too much for him!”
Ewan wailed again, and Deirdre looked like she might burst from her skin in her desperation to get to him. “Maybe if he knew her beforehand, it would work, or if the room, the keep, wasn’t new to him,” she continued. “But the last thing he’ll remember is being on your horse in my arms, riding through the forest. That’s too much change for a bairn, too quickly.”
“I’ll go,” Gavin said. He signaled Clyde, who rushed forward surprisingly quickly for such a burly man. Gavin handed Deirdre over to him.
“I’ll come too,” Kerr said. “He likes me. I can make him laugh.”
“And me,” Isobel said.
“Nay, just Kerr. Isobel, go with Deirdre and Clyde, please. Help get her settled. I doona want any more new faces.”
“But maybe he’ll remember me?” Isobel lifted her chin stubbornly. “We used to play together all the time. I was like a mother to him, when Cristel was so distant.”
“He didn’t remember me, Isobel. He was too young when he was taken to remember any of us.” Gavin grasped her shoulders, directing her toward the other staircase at the opposite end of the hall.
Clyde followed her, leading Deirdre. She resisted, and he wrapped his arm around her shoulders to keep her moving. The man was built like a mountain. She had to go with him or she’d be flattened.
She looked over her shoulder at Gavin, her eyes pleading. “He’ll think I’ve abandoned him!”
“Nay, I’ll explain that you’re sleeping in your chamber. He’s four years old. He’ll settle down eventually, like he did when you were at the gathering.”
Gavin couldn’t bear to look at her desperate, heartbroken face anymore. He stepped through the stairwell entrance and quickly climbed upward, Kerr on his heels. Ewan’s sobs increased in volume as they neared the nursery.
His son sat on his bed, no longer in his plaid but still wearing his long, travel-stained linen shirt, with his back in the corner and his knees pulled up. A candle burned on the bedside table, and the fire still crackled in the hearth. Annag sat beside him with the same carved warrior in her hand that she’d held earlier.
Aye, his lad was kicking up a storm—scared and upset but angry too. And desperate, same as Deirdre. When Annag tried to give him the toy warrior, he kicked it away. “Where’s my mother?”
“Ewan, stop yelling,” Gavin said from the doorway. “Deirdre is downstairs in her bedchamber, sleeping. She’s verra tired. You’ll wake her up.”
The boy’s face crumpled, and he started sobbing as soon as he saw Gavin. Annag turned her head to him, relief evident in her face. “’Tis good you’re here. I canna settle him.”
Ewan crawled over the bed and ran toward Gavin. Heart swelling, Gavin leaned down to swoop his son into his arms, to love him and comfort him, but Ewan dodged past him and out the door.
“Ewan!” he said sternly.
“Whoa! What do I have here?” Kerr’s voice boomed behind him. Gavin turned to see his foster brother picking up a squirming Ewan.
Kerr sniffed loudly, then said, “Is it a rabbit? I hope so. I’m terribly hungry.”
He gnawed on Ewan’s arm, but instead of laughing, the boy yelled, “Put me down!”
Kerr ignored him. “Well, it canna be a rabbit. Rabbits canna talk.” He lifted Ewan higher in the air and sniffed his tummy. “Are you a badger, then? Badgers can talk.”
“No, they canna!” Ewan began to giggle. “I’m a boy.”
“A boy? Lads canna talk! Only lasses.”
“They can too. Even better than lasses.”
“Gooder,” Kerr corrected him.
&
nbsp; Ewan scrunched up his face in confusion. “What?”
“Boys talk even gooder than lasses.”
Gavin rolled his eyes in exasperation. Just what he needed—Deirdre getting after him for ruining Ewan’s grammar on top of everything else. He reached for Ewan, and Kerr handed him over.
“Boys doona talk better than lasses,” Gavin said, “but they definitely talk better than uncles. And bears.”
“Bears canna talk either,” Ewan said.
“I know several bears who can talk. Beginning with the bear behind you.”
Ewan looked over his shoulder as Gavin walked with him back to bed. When he giggled, Gavin could only assume Kerr had done something funny.
“Ewan, I’m sorry I wasn’t here when you woke. It must have been frightening to be in a place you didn’t know, with no one you remembered.” He stopped in front of Annag, who’d risen from the bed and faced them with a smile on her face. “This is Annag. She used to take care of you before you lived with Deirdre. She also took care of me and Aunt Isobel when we were bairns.”
“Who is Aunt Isobel?”
“She’s my sister. You’ll meet her in the morning. You used to play with her all the time when you lived here before.”
“How come I canna remember her?”
“You were a wee bairn when you left. You hadn’t yet turned two.”
Ewan looked around the room, his eyes lighting on the carved, toy warriors with interest. “Did I play with those?”
“Aye, you did. They were your favorite.”
“I have some at home that Old Mungo made for me. Mama and I take them outside, and we play with them in the woods. Did Ma and I play with these ones too when we were here?”
Gavin took a moment to answer. “Nay. Deirdre ne’er played with them. She…didn’t live with you when you used to live here.”
“Where did she live?”
“At her keep…you didn’t know her then.”
Ewan quieted, his eyes growing troubled. “But she’s my mother.”
Gavin sat on the bed with him, then laid him down. “This is your home, Ewan. We’ve been waiting for you to come back. And we’re all so happy to see you again. Your mother…your real mother…” He searched for the words, but they wouldn’t come. How could he tell this little boy, his son, that his mother wasn’t actually his mother? He’d be confused and even more anxious.
Ewan rolled away from him, onto his side, working the quilt between his fingers. The embroidered dragon moved back and forth like it was roaring—something he’d done as a bairn too.
Maybe he did remember. Maybe he’ll slip into his old life and be happy—without Deirdre.
Ewan sat up and looked at the low table with his set of toy warriors on it, then crawled across the bed toward it. Gavin turned to watch him but stayed sitting, wanting him to explore the room on his own without any pressure. Kerr moved away from the door, toward the window, and opened the shutter to let in some cool night air.
Ewan picked up the smallest Highland warrior, which had always been his favorite, and jumped it across the table, making crashing sounds with his mouth every time the warrior landed. Annag came over to him and picked up another warrior.
“Are we fighting someone then, laddie?” she asked.
He looked up at her. “Aye. We’re fighting the MacKinnons. My dragon’s going to slay their laird.”
Quiet descended on the room, other than the crackling fire—a quiet that was as noisy as the middle of a real battlefield. Annag straightened and caught Gavin’s eye, her gaze filled with concern and pity. The pressure built again, his chest too tight for all the emotions that careened through him.
Ewan continued to walk around the table, jumping and crashing his smaller warrior into the other warriors, knocking them over. He stopped and looked over his shoulder at Gavin. “Mama’s sleeping,” he said, then without warning, he bolted for the open door, his wee legs flying under his loose linen shirt.
“Ewan!” Gavin shouted as he jumped from the bed to catch him. But at the same time Annag stepped between him and the door, her back to Gavin, and he almost knocked her over. He steadied her, then darted around just as Kerr passed him, and they smashed shoulders.
“God’s blood!”
“Bloody thorns!”
They yelled at the same time.
“Doona curse in front of the bairn!” Annag shook her long finger at them.
“The bairn isna here,” Kerr said. “By now he’s halfway back to Deirdre’s keep!”
“Mama!” Ewan cried out in the distance.
Gavin cursed again—this time under his breath—as he ran out the door. He just saw Ewan’s white shirt disappear down the stairs at the other end of the hall. Fear propelled him now. What if the lad fell?
Deirdre would give him that look again—the same one she gave him when Ewan tumbled off his horse and Thor almost stepped on him. Why weren’t you watching him?
Ewan yelled again as Gavin ducked his head and ran down the stairs. He could hear Kerr—even bigger than him—bringing up the rear. His size made it difficult to move quickly in the confined space.
“Mama!”
And this time he heard a desperate-sounding Deirdre yell back, “Ewan!”
Devil be damned. She knows.
“Ewan, I’m here, sweetling!”
He reached the next landing and looked down the lit passageway. Ewan tore along the hall toward a surprised-looking Clyde. He stood guard outside one of the rooms, his legs spread for better balance, one arm anchored across the opening, like he was trying to keep someone inside. The door was open, and Gavin could see Deirdre—her long, black hair loose and flowing over her shoulders, her fair skin glowing in the candlelight—peeking around Clyde’s huge shoulder.
“Ewan!” she yelled again when she saw the lad.
“Mama!” His son darted straight at the big warrior, who looked as concerned as Gavin had ever seen him, and Gavin almost laughed. Clyde could face down a trained warrior with a huge battle-ax or a wild, rampaging boar single-handed, but send a four-year-old in a nightshirt running at him, and he looked like he’d seen the hounds of hell.
Gavin slowed, waiting for Clyde to scoop up Ewan or to hold him in place. But Ewan feinted left, then right, darted between Clyde’s legs, and disappeared into Deirdre’s room.
“Where’d he go?” Clyde asked, whipping his head around.
Gavin sighed. “Through your legs.”
“Nay! I’d have…” He looked behind him and shook his head. “My daughters ne’er moved so fast at that age.”
Gavin stood in front of him and signaled for him to step aside. When Clyde moved, Gavin walked through the doorway and found his son in Deirdre’s arms, his legs wrapped around her waist and his arms around her neck. She’d retreated to the farthest corner in the room and stared at Gavin with pleading, yet also defiant, eyes.
“They told me you were sleeping. But you’re still dressed,” Ewan said to her.
“Aye, laddie. I was just about to get ready for bed. Gavin—your da—knew that I was sleepy.”
“Why is he my da? I thought that Da was my da.”
“So did I, sweetling. But you ne’er saw your other da much, and he didn’t play with you like Gavin does. And Gavin also has Thor.”
“Aye, and he said I can get my own horse too!”
“It’ll be a grand place to live, doona you think?”
Gavin had moved slowly toward them and stopped in the middle of the chamber, waiting for his son’s answer. Praying he’d say yes.
“Aye. But I want to sleep with you. I doona like it upstairs.”
Deirdre’s gaze clashed with his. She’d said encouraging things to Ewan about Gavin and his new home—and even called him “da,” for which he was grateful—but in this she stayed quiet.
He would hav
e to tear his son from Deirdre’s arms.
* * *
Deirdre’s eyes drifted open, her lids heavy and body leaden. A sunlit bedchamber came into view—the carved wooden door across from her, a beautiful standing wardrobe in the corner, and a wooden chest beside it. She lay on a canopied bed under a heavy quilt, still wearing her long, white linen shift from the last few days, dirty and wrinkled from the road. The air was cool, the fire having gone out sometime after she’d handed a sleeping Ewan to Gavin last night. When he’d returned her son to the nursery in the wee hours of the morning—for the third time.
Nay, that wasn’t right. Ewan had come down a fourth time, and she and Gavin had sat quietly with him in front of the fire as they waited for him to fall asleep, in a strange kind of…camaraderie.
Ewan had wanted to sleep with her in her bed, of course, and had whined and cried to do so, but she’d seen the stubborn no in Gavin’s eyes. Sitting in the chair had seemed like a reasonable compromise. Next time maybe she would walk Ewan back up to the nursery herself. If there was a next time.
She looked toward the chairs grouped in front of the cold fire and realized she had no memory of handing her son to Gavin that last time. Or crawling into the bed.
Was I too tired to remember? Or did…did…Gavin lift me up, just like he did Ewan, and lay me down here?
A shiver ran over her, and she sat up. “Ewan!”
A creaking sound startled her as more light poured into the room. She turned her head, expecting to find her son on a chair playing with the shutters. Isobel stood there instead, tall and willowy, her long, blond hair hanging in soft curls to her hips. She’d just opened the wooden coverings over the window.
She turned to face Deirdre, her skirts swishing and a smile lighting up her face.
Deirdre couldn’t help staring. She was by far the most beautiful woman Deirdre had ever seen—even more so than Deirdre’s mother and sisters—and her eyes were the same startling blue-green as Ewan’s and Gavin’s.
How did I miss that last night?
In comparison, Deirdre hadn’t even washed off the dirt of the trail or the smell of Thor. Embarrassment crashed over her.
Highland Captive Page 8
